Enchained (Anthology)

165 Pages·2016·0.61 MB·English

by  Hill Joey W

Warning: The following material contains strong sexual content meant for
mature readers. Enchained has been rated NC-17, erotic, by a minimum of six
independent reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this e-book in a place where
young readers not meant to view it are unlikely to happen upon it. That said,
enjoy…

Enchained
Mastered by Ann Jacobs
6
A Choice Of Masters
by Joey W. Hill
48
Death Row: The Mastering
by Jaid Black
104
Mastered
written by
ann jacobs
Prologue

Control. He had to have it, in bed and out, and she was the last woman on earth
he’d expect to shed her armor and bend to his loving dominance. Worse, she was
his good friend and confidant, and as often as not his colleague because his
detectives chased down the criminals she ultimately prosecuted.
So why was it that Sandra kept his cock twitching every time he got within
smelling distance of that musky perfume she wore? And why did he wake up
nights hard as stone from dreaming of her bound and helpless and moaning with
pleasure with every stroke of his tongue on her sopping cunt?
Rocky tamped down the futile fantasies that flooded his mind as he walked his
good friend to the door of her apartment after drinks and talk at Bennie’s, his
cooling off aided by the soft spring rain that kissed his skin and left shimmering
crystals beading in her glossy black hair.
But when he bent his head to give her a friendly goodnight kiss at her door like
he’d done a hundred times before, Sandra responded like anything but the cool,
collected lawyer he knew. The way she traced his lips with her tongue and
tangled it with his had his cock primed and ready for action.
As though shocked by the sudden wave of sexual electricity that had overcome
her, she pulled away and opened her door. “Goodnight, Rocky,” she said as
though nothing had gone down between them. Her nervous laugh belied her
casual words as she beat a hasty retreat.
For a long time Rocky stood staring at the closed door, reliving that kiss and
mentally kicking himself in the ass for having read his good buddy wrong.
Cool? Collected? Control freak? Hell, no. She walked the walk and talked the
talk, but what the fuck? Nobody who didn’t have a damn strong interest in sex
kissed the way she’d kissed him tonight. And ice queens sure as hell didn’t have
tongue piercings.
Chapter One
Nothing at the courthouse had changed much in the year since he’d left the
testifying to his underlings. Keys still clanged as guys emptied pockets and
dumped the contents into baskets before walking through the metal detection
machines. Anxious-looking people milled around in the halls taking surreptitious
glances at uniformed city cops and sheriff’s deputies. Small-time crooks and
perfumed hookers huddled in corners with lawyers in ill-fitting suits, ties askew.
The smell of stale tobacco, unwashed bodies and cheap cologne lingered in chief
of detectives Rocco Delgado’s nostrils long after he’d stepped inside Courtroom
B and found a vacant section of a side wall to lean against.
The eyes of the women jurors seemed glued on the defense lawyer as he
delivered his closing statement. Their tongues were practically hanging out their
mouths, and Rocky even thought he saw one drooling. Disgusting, what a guy
like Tony Landry could do with movie-star good looks and a deep, mesmerizing
voice that Rocky bet could coax a nun right out of her panties.
Rocky stood there, half listening to Landry while he visually zoomed in on chief
prosecutor Sandra Giancone. His tie suddenly felt too tight when he considered
how some guys on his team had screwed up taking a key witness’s statement.
They’d screwed her case in the process, but no one would guess it. It always
amazed him how nothing seemed to blow Sandra’s cool.
Nothing, that is, except the idea of taking their friendship out of restaurants and
movie theaters into her bed or his. He’d been about to give up on seducing her
until that kiss last week when he’d discovered the flat acrylic retainer in her
tongue.
Only a slight tremor in her voice when she stood and made her summation to the
jury gave away the desperation she must have been feeling, facing the likelihood
that another guilty man would walk.
She’d made a damn good argument. He’d buy it any day over Landry’s silky-
smooth allegation that the State hadn’t proven its case and the jury must
therefore set a big-time drug trafficker free. But then Rocky didn’t get a hard-on
looking at a hunk in a tailor-made suit.
He imagined most of the women on the jury had soaked their underwear,
imagining Landry crawling into their beds. And that they’d gotten the lawyer’s
point when he emphasized that he’d neatly impeached a big chunk of the
evidence Sandra had needed to prove the defendant’s guilt beyond reasonable
doubt.
On the other hand, Sandra had a way of bringing his cock to instant attention.
Rocky’s balls tightened when he thought about the lady replacing that retainer in
her tongue with a vibrating barbell. The idea of her rubbing it sensuously over
his naked body was a massive turn-on, and he damn well intended to make that
happen soon.
His unflappable friend would need to let go some of her scary self-control when
this case was over. She’d need to be mastered, and his cock was just the tool to
do the job. Now if he could only convince her…
Fuck, he was dreaming. The lady might be keeping that tongue piercing as a
souvenir of some long-ago fling. Nothing else about her gave the slightest hint
that she might get into the BDSM scene he’d inhabited off and on for years. No,
Rocky told his eager cock it wasn’t likely ever to feel the inside of Sandra’s cunt,
let alone the delicious sensation of her pierced tongue sliding over it, wet and
eager for a meal of his come.
He’d better cool it or he’d embarrass himself with a hard-on nobody in the
courtroom would be able to ignore. Putting the lid onto his fantasies, Rocky
forced himself to concentrate on what Sandra was saying.
By God, she might get lucky and pull this case out. Her argument sure as hell
would have convinced Rocky that the creep on trial belonged behind bars for the
rest of his natural life and then some, if he hadn’t already known that for a fact.
But then Rocky knew his detective whose testimony Landry had just impeached,
and he had confidence that the man would never perjure himself, even if his
family situation suggested otherwise.
The jurors didn’t.
It was obvious from the tight set of her lips when she walked out of the
courtroom that Sandra knew Landry had cemented doubt in those jurors’ minds.
She hid it well, though. He doubted the reporters who were now ganging up on
her outside the courtroom could tell.
“Do you think you’ve got a conviction?” one shouted at her from the back of the
horde.
“Did Landry’s discrediting the detective hurt your case?” yelled an especially
stupid young woman who shoved a microphone in Sandra’s face.
It was all Rocky could do to restrain himself from knocking aside everybody
who stood in his path, plowing into the melee, and knocking the pesky reporters
out of Sandra’s way. Damn, it was as if they wanted to make her break—wanted
her to snap and say something that would spice up the evening news.
“No comment,” she snapped again and again, her smile tight-lipped as she and
the rest of the prosecution team shoved their way through the crowd with the
help of some uniforms.
Rocky stood and watched, hurting for her and for his detective who had
inadvertently fucked up the case. Tonight he’d coax her once more to shed her
cloak of determined self-control. If she’d let him, he’d be there for her and give
her the love that had been growing inside him, love that was yelling to be
revealed—and he’d provide however much or little sex as it took to shake that
scary, brittle control of hers into oblivion.
Maybe he’d even hide the toys he kept below deck on the forty-foot motor
cruiser he’d bought with his inheritance from Uncle Marco and treat Sandy to a
relaxing cruise on the Gulf. He could always hope she wouldn’t notice Neptune’s
Dungeon discreetly stenciled on the stern–or if she did, she wouldn’t catch the
name’s significance.
*
“No comment.” Sandra could have saved valuable breath by tape recording those
two terse words and playing them nonstop while she walked from the courthouse
to the state attorney’s offices for the second time in two hours.
A cool breeze caught wisps of her simply styled pageboy and whipped the
strands against her cheeks. Another annoyance, she thought, brushing back her
hair as she tried to ignore the horde of TV commentators and photographers
dogging her trail and spoiling this otherwise gorgeous February day.
Sandra hated reporters. Vultures. That was all they were. This time they hadn’t
even waited for the jury to come in. She hadn’t needed to hear the verdict
rendered moments earlier to know Landry had ripped her case to shreds.
This was one of those days when she wished she’d listened to Mama and
forgotten about saving the world from bastards like the one who’d just gotten off
scot-free. She should have settled down with a good old Italian-American
paisano to raise her own brood of macho boys and sweet, subservient girls. At
the very least she ought to have tossed away her ambitions and gone with her old
Master when he’d moved his construction business to Arizona last year.
Maybe she should have taken Rocky up on one of his frequent hints that they
nudge their long-time friendship into an affair. Too bad he seemed like such a
nice guy. Too bad nice didn’t get her off.
Her second-guessing wasn’t happening because some hotshot defense lawyer
five years her junior had just ripped apart her case. That humiliation was nothing
compared with what she knew was coming from the state attorney, whose
political ambitions went far beyond his present elective office. Sandra had no
doubt he’d see her loss to the flamboyant attorney as a diminishing blow to his
chances for moving up to Congress next year. She’d gotten a hint of just how
angry her boss was when his secretary had buzzed her on her cell phone as soon
as the trial was over and summoned her to an urgent meeting.
Sometimes Sandra wanted to strangle that pompous ass, but as always she
vowed to keep a tight rein on her feelings. She wouldn’t let anybody get to her.
Taking a deep breath once she got past the receptionist who she hoped would
hold the reporters at bay, she opened the conference room door.
“Good. You’re finally here. We can get started.” The scowl on Harper Wells’
patrician-looking face gave Sandra another hint as to the level of verbal abuse
she and the other members of the prosecution team should expect.
She schooled her features into what she hoped would be seen as a neutral
expression. No way would she ever give Wells or anybody else the satisfaction
of getting past her defenses. “Fire away,” she said as she took a seat at the
conference table between Andi Young, her second chair, and Kristine Granger,
the law clerk who’d assisted with preparations for the trial.
A quick check of the other faces around the table confirmed that everyone who’d
been even peripherally involved with preparing the case had received their
boss’s summons. Even the detectives who’d screwed up collecting evidence—
and Rocky, their boss, who wore an ominous scowl.
Damn! This was apparently going to be even worse than Sandra had imagined.
It was. She clenched her fists under the table to keep from using them on Wells
when he threatened her with firing or demotion for having let Landry get the best
of her. She gathered from his comments that he’d run up against a brick wall
with the flamboyant defense attorney before, and this loss added insult to the
earlier injury.
Then Wells turned on the police investigative team, his mouth curled in a mask
of disgust. “I’m filing a complaint with the Tampa Police Department, Delgado.
I’ll have all your heads on pikes before I’m through with you,” he concluded
following a lengthy and loud recitation of every real and imagined error that
might have contributed to the not-guilty verdict.
Sandra glanced across the table, noted the hard set of Rocky’s square jaw and the
white-knuckled fists he didn’t bother hiding from plain view. From the fierce
expression in his deep-brown eyes, she imagined he was one step away from
exploding. And she didn’t blame him. Wells was out of line, blaming Rocky
because Landry had dug up the detective’s family problems to impeach his
testimony. If anybody was to blame for that, she was.
“I should have thought to ask Detective Sergeant Kelly if anything in his private
life might be subject to scrutiny. I didn’t. If you need to blame someone, blame
me,” she said when Wells paused in his loud diatribe. Not that she imagined the
big, rough-edged chief of detectives needed defending. She’d put her money on
Rocky over Wells any day—at least in a back-alley brawl. No, she spoke up to
keep from witnessing an explosion of testosterone that could easily have resulted
in bloodshed.
As the state attorney turned back to Sandra, he slammed a fist onto the table,
sending reverberations through her fingers, up her arm and into her throbbing
head. “Yes, you should have. Why in hell can’t I get attorneys as good as
Landry?”
Because you’re a self-serving bastard, maybe?
Careful to keep her expression neutral, Sandra looked Wells in the eye. “I doubt
the state attorney’s office pays nearly as much as Landry makes in private
practice.”
“That may be. Still… Don’t let this happen again or you’re out, Giancone. I
don’t need lawyers who can’t get convictions. All of you get the hell out of here
now.”
“Wells was in fine fighting form today,” Rocky observed a few minutes later
when he and Sandra waited in the hallway for the balky elevator. “It’s past
quitting time. How about we head over to Bennie’s Place and commiserate over
a drink or two?”
“All right.” Sandra had no desire to rehash the trial or its replay, but she could
seriously use a drink—and a few hours with the big chief of detectives who was
the closest thing she had to a best friend. Truth be told, she could use a man…the
right sort of man. Maybe tonight if Rocky suggested again that they share a
friendly fuck, she’d say yes.
Maybe she’d even enjoy it.
*
Bennie’s. For over ten years now she’d been stopping in for a bread bowl of
Selena’s famous stew at lunchtime, drinks after long days in court. Located
across from the courthouse in downtown Tampa, the pub attracted a horde of
lawyers and judges and the occasional detective or cop. A cool blast of air
greeted Sandra as she and Rocky stepped through faux-western swinging doors
into a bar paneled with dark wood. Candles flickered at the centers of the round
tables in the center of the room.
“Over there.” Rocky led the way around the tables and through the maze of
mostly empty barrel chairs to the dimly lit corner booth he always chose when it
wasn’t already occupied. “Need the peace and quiet after the day from hell we
went through from Wells, right?” he asked after Sandra had slid around to the
back of the horseshoe-shaped red leather seat close enough to him that she could
smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave.
“Yes. Right.” The crackling silver light from a sphere on a neon beer ad behind
him bounced off his gleaming scalp. Suddenly she wondered…
Except for the coat and tie that looked as though it didn’t really belong over his
massive shoulders or surrounding his thick, tanned neck, Rocky might have been
a dockworker…a pro wrestler…anything but the highly respected cop he was. In
some ways he reminded Sandra of her old Master. Of the hot, committed
relationship she’d ended a year ago after refusing to quit her job and follow Him
to his new home in Arizona.
She recalled the orgasms she hadn’t had with her last lover, a local corporate
attorney. Ice maiden. That was what he’d called her. Little had he known how
hard she’d tried to find release when they fucked in the plain-vanilla way that
left her cold—or how frustrated her failure to come had made her.
The jerk never would have believed her if she’d told him how she’d gone wild
with men who’d hardly been fit consorts for the respectable, unflappable Sandra
Giancone. Hard, macho types she’d never dare show up with at bar association
parties or Harper Wells’ mandatory social-business gatherings. Men who took
control of her body the way she’d never let them intrude on her professional life
—until Master had come along.
Men with dark, dangerous edges honed to razor-sharpness in Tampa’s
underground community. Could Rocky be…?
For the next half-hour Sandra and Rocky rehashed the case while she polished
off two syrupy strawberry daiquiris.
“Want some dinner?” Rocky asked when it seemed they’d said all that could be
said about their shared business dealings.
The last thing Sandra wanted was food. Her stomach already was queasy from
having drunk those daiquiris on her empty stomach. “No. But I could use
some…” She dared not tell him what she needed right now. “Coffee.”
“I think you need more than that. You need to loosen up. Relax.” Rocky’s voice
compelled, commanded, despite its deep, melodic tone.
What I need is for him to clamp his cuffs on me, force me to let go.
Sandra’s nipples tightened and her pussy got wet when she imagined him taking
control, taking her the way she hadn’t been taken for far too long. Because he’d
hinted more than once that he wanted to fuck her, she imagined he’d pick up on
even the subtlest of invitations. “Relax how?” she asked, her tone deliberately
challenging.
“In bed.” His declaration, as bald as his cleanly shaven head, came out as a low
rumble, and he drew her hand to his lap and settled it over the bulge of his rigid
throbbing cock.
When he shot her a predatory grin, his straight teeth flashed a brilliant white
against swarthy skin dotted along his square jaw line with a heavy five o’clock
shadow. And his dark eyes glittered, promising…
Danger?
More like mastery. Oh! How Sandra needed to be mastered. In bed, not in court
the way Landry the wonder lawyer had bested her this afternoon.
Testosterone practically oozed from the big detective whose conventionally cut
dark brown sports jacket did little to disguise his hulking shoulders and massive
chest. The winking silver stud in his left earlobe did nothing to offset his blatant
maleness. She imagined Rocky without his clothes, certain now he had
everything it took to turn her into a mass of quivering jelly. Not just the cuffs she
imagined he carried in his pants pocket and the big, hard tool now pulsating
beneath her palm.
He’d have the confidence to know what she wanted, the balls to take her and
make her like it. If she was really lucky, he might even be a true dominant male
—a Master.
Sandra’s pussy wept more, drenching her pantyhose. She barely managed to
resist the impulse to squirm against the leather-covered booth when she
imagined Rocky restraining her with his iron-muscled arms, dragging her head
down to his crotch and making her swallow his hot male flesh.
His cock would be long and thick and maybe uncut as so many Latino men were.
Her mouth went dry at the thought, and her whole body began to tingle with
greedy anticipation. His thick, slick cream would slide down her throat, trickle
down her chin.
After she sucked him off, he’d pin her to the mattress and fuck her long and
hard. He’d make her come the way no gentle lover had ever managed.
Yeah. The big dangerous-looking cop could make her come. No doubt about it.
Problem was, he’d likely strip away the control she’d worked so hard to come
by. And conquer not just her body but her mind.